Mirrors
by FOREVERDARKNESSXD
Summary: A new problem arises for a certain substitute soul reaper. It appears that Aizen's zanpakto, Kyoga Suigetsu, is wandering around the world of the living in search of great power. And Ichigo questions himself after having multiple hallucinations about a certain sexta espada. But, what if the solution to his problem consists of freeing Soul Society's traitor?


He was dying. Sweat dripped from the edges of his skin as he was beaten, the knifing sting of vomit flooding his parched throat, staining his blood soaked kimono. The satin material underneath clinging to his battered body.

Tension knotted in his muscles, his bones cracking as an iron fist collided with his ribs, pain exploding through his soreness. It was dark. Cold. So much that he felt as if a giant glacier pressed against his flesh, the small strands at his nape rising as he shivered. And he was bleeding, his ridged wounds seeping with crimson ooze.

He was drained. Weak and aching. Trembling under his opponent's hold.

A sliver of moonlight illuminated his honeysuckle irises, widening in horror at the sight of the espada's zanpakto. A forceful hand embedded in his hair, yanking at his scalp as he was dragged to the very height of the sky, his own weapon dropped. He gritted his teeth, squeaking from the pressure of his jaw. That was when he spotted it. Zangetsu. He choked on air, breaking out a sob as he was thrown into the darkness, crashing into countless buildings on his venture to the road. This was it, his last breathing moments.

Perhaps it was his time.

His vision blurred as his mind ticked over the details of that night-the howling of his soul badge. The unexpected presence of the sexta. A vindictive smirk as he slaughtered the teen's tendons. And the tone of voice as his name flowed from the hollow's lips. Only one being was responsible for his paralysis.

Grimmjow Jeager Jaquez. He was supposed to be dead. But here he was, brutally tearing him limb from limb, blasting a cero in the expanse of his skull. He cried out in pain, drowning in a pool of his own blood and groaning as he was lifted off of the floor. Confusion swam in the depths of his vague conscience, his brows narrowing in concentration. '_Where is he taking me?'_

There was a profound silence, clawing at his eardrums. Exhaustion weighed over him, too tired to fight back, bringing him into a deep slumber.

When he woke, he was attached to monitors. Debris piled at the corners of plain walls, careering around the room. A hat, a very familiar hat placed on the desk to his right, white stripes masked with green. And a cane, branded with a skull engulfed in blue flames on its base. Ichigo frowned.

He was at the shop, but how had he got there? Was the sexta's attack a mere illusion? A mirage pieced together from his absence? He didn't know, but he had an ominous feel in the pit of his stomach. Whatever was going on, he didn't like it in the least bit.

He tried sitting up, sighing in defeat as the wires wrapped around him in the process. Through his raging headache he saw the figure of a man, approaching from the door. Urahara. But he seemed different, concerned. Almost as if he was about to tell somebody a family member died. Before Ichigo could question anything, the blonde spoke up.

"Kurosaki, I see you are now conscious. I didn't mean to pry on your rest, feel free to go to bed." His eyebrows knitted together, there was something the shopkeeper wasn't telling him.

"Urahara," he spoke lowly, "w-why am I...here?" A pause. An excruciatingly long pause. Kisuke neglected to answer, just sat in silence on the other side of the room. Weary and puzzled, the substitute yanked the cords from his body and practically crawled to the other. _'Damn this soreness!'_

Miraculously, Urahara began to acknowledge him. "Kurosaki, don't come any closer." Ichigo stiffened. "Because, if you do, I couldn't possibly maintain my self control."

The substitute gulped, a building heat growing through the tense atmosphere. Did he hear correctly? He himself had no clue. However, when he circled around the blonde, he was met with lifeless gray pupils. They were dark. Frightening. Like said man was on the brink of insanity, one wrong move sending him over the peek of a cliff. Ichigo didn't know what to do, but he did what he could at the moment. He reached out to him.

The teen's hands landed on the side of Kisuke's face, gently tilting his head until their gazes met. His thumb ran along the bottom of the man's lips. They parted, soft and vulnerable. Determination swirled in the depths of his eyes as he hugged the shopkeeper, his signature scowl firmly in place. A protest died on Kisuke's lips as he continued. "Just accept the goddamn hug! Ungrateful bastard."

True, Urahara was shocked, but he found himself leaning into the embrace. "Kurosaki...do my warnings mean nothing to you?"

He chuckled. "What the hell are you talking about, Old Man?"

Urahara frowned. "'Old Man'? I assure you, I am not the oldest there is in Soul Society. Besides, you are just simply too much of a brat." He was pulling away, but was stopped once more. "I need a shower, Kurosaki. Unless, you care to join me?"

Ichigo blushed, his face turning as red as a tomato. "W-Why the hell would I want to, P-PERVERT!?" Kisuke laughed, it was always fun to tease the strawberry. Maybe he'd make it a daily thing.


End file.
